My Sacrifice
by FoxLix
Summary: Peeta and Katniss are both called again into the 75th annual Hunger Games. Takes "Catching Fire" into a different direction. See full summary inside, since the summary and the story include spoilers for "Catching Fire" for people who've only read the first book.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note**: This is my very first attempt at writing, so any constructive criticism would be greatly appreciated. When I was reading _Catching Fire_, I couldn't help imagining what would have happened if Katniss did appear to die for Peeta, but had in fact been stolen by the Capitol. I was surprised when it turned out to happen almost like that, except that Peeta instead was imprisoned. So this is what I imagined would happen. I hope you enjoy!

**Chapter 1**

We almost missed it. After Caesar showed off my wedding dresses, each more extravagant than the last, I was reaching to shut off the television, assuming it was over. It wouldn't have made a difference anyways. If I had, and we did miss it, I would have still found out one way or another. After all, what is a show without its star? But I didn't shut it off, because I could still hear Caesar talking. Instead of wrapping up about the dresses as I expected, he announces the reading of the card for the third Quarter Quell. _Already?_

With all twelve districts and the Capitol tuning in, the camera frame switches from Caesar's wide trademark grin, and instead focuses in on President Snow as he pulls out and opens an innocuous white letter, and begins to read: "On the seventy-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that even the strongest among them cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, the male and female tributes will be reaped from their existing pool of victors."

At first it doesn't sink in. As my mind tries to make sense of President Snow's declaration, I can hear my mother and Prim gasping and falling to their knees, shaking and sobbing uncontrollably. I feel immediate concern and want to ask them what's wrong. But my voice is stuck and I can't seem to get a sound out. And just like that, it hits. _Existing pool of victors_. There's only one female victor currently living in District 12. Me.

_I'm going back_. That's all I can think. Back to the humiliating parades. Back to the falsely cheerful interviews with Caesar. Back to the Arena. All of a sudden I'm parched, and my tongue is dry, and I remember those first two days of unbearable thirst. A phantom burning crawls up my calf as I recall the blazing pain following my flight from the maelstrom of fire. My hands begin to throb from remembered tracker jacker stingers, and my vision begins to blur. Images begin to assail me. Glimmer's grossly bloated body. The spear protruding from Rue's slight frame. Clove with her indented skull. And through it all, as if in the background, I hear the horrifying sound of the Muttations feasting on Cato's flesh as he screams, and moans, and sobs in agony.

It was supposed to be over. Peeta and I, we were supposed to be free. Wasn't that the whole point of everything? Using Peeta's love and turning it into a TV show gimmick! Killing the other tributes! All of them, children! Forcing the Capitol's hand with those wretched, damned berries! And all for what?! Nothing. Because in spite of it all, or perhaps, because of it all, they're sending me back.


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER 2**

The crunching of the snow under my boots echoes loudly through the stillness of Victor's Village as I make my way over to Haymitch's house. Almost as soon as I could clear my mind of the shock, a plan, or I should say more of a mission, began to form in my mind. I needed to speak to my mentor. I couldn't bear facing Prim and our mother in my current state, particularly with the plan I had in mind, so I made sure to slip away unnoticed. I need to be strong for them, and right now, strong is not a word I'd use to describe any of the multitude of emotions swirling inside me. Hopelessness. Despair. Those ring far more true. But even now, as I trudge down the road with the occasional blast of freezing wind slapping my face, I feel a sense of resolve forming. I know what I need to do. And I know I can't do it without Haymitch.

As I pass by Peeta's house I make an effort to quiet my footsteps and sneak by. I can't stomach seeing Peeta or his family right now either. This is, after all, all my fault. The berries were my idea. The flowers adorning Rue in her final repose were my idea too. And that speech I made in District 11 about Rue and Thresh? Ya, that was all me. I should have bourn Rue's sister's reproach in silence. I should have kept my mouth shut about my honest respect for Thresh, the man, no the boy, who spared my life. I should not have told them what Rue meant to me, what their gift of bread meant to me. Had I stayed silent, maybe they wouldn't have rebelled. Maybe the other districts wouldn't have joined. Maybe right now, instead of heading over to Haymitch's house to strategize my plan, I would be heading to Peeta's, to finalize our vows. It's almost laughable that not an hour ago I was dreading our Capitol wedding, and now I find I'd give anything to walk down that aisle if it meant that at the end, both Peeta and I could live in peace.

I was naïve to think President Snow would let it rest. I defied the Capitol, a crime that to him could not be left unpunished. My heart constricts as I think of the twenty-two other district victors who will face another reaping and be forced to pay the price along with me. They didn't anger the capitol. They played their parts as they were meant to. But it seems the odds, as ever, are _not_ in their favor, or it seems in mine.

By the time I knock on Haymitch's door I'm so cold I nearly barrel over him to get inside as soon as he cracks the door open. He says nothing as I head straight to the fireplace Hazelle undoubtedly lit for him before she left and warm my hands and face. I can see from the corner of my eye as he moves back to his chair facing the fire and falls into it, bottle of white liquor in hand. I remain facing the fire well after I've warmed up, working out what I'm going to say to convince Haymitch to agree to my plan. I'm so engrossed in my own thoughts I nearly jump when I hear Haymitch's slurred voice.

"Well don't leave me in suspense sweetheart. Go ahead. Ask me to die for him. That's what you came here for isn't it?"

My heart hurts to think Haymitch truly doesn't realize what he's come to mean to Peeta and me. When I think about how difficult it must have been for him to mentor us during the last games, schmoozing with the sponsors to get us the food and medicine we needed to survive. He may have started off as nothing more than a grumpy, uncaring drunk who's only worth to me was the mild entertainment he inadvertently gave by falling off the stage each Reaping, but in the last nine or so months of our acquaintance, he's practically become family.

"I don't want you to die for him Haymitch," I murmur. Then I turn around and look straight into his eyes. "That's why I'm here. I don't want either of you to die at all."

He stares back at me, a comically confused expression on his usually sullen face.

"Haymitch, you and I both know that this whole thing, this Third Quell, it's just Snow's way of taking me out in as public and bloody a way as possible. I was never supposed to walk away. He's livid. And now everyone – you, me, Peeta, your friends among the victors – we're all paying the price for it."

Even as I'm speaking, Haymitch is shaking his head back and forth, his eyes slightly widening. My voice starts to tremble at the end, and I nearly stumble to my knees as I kneel to frame his face with my hands, holding him still. I keep talking, my voice becoming steadier with each word that passes through my lips.

"We both know, even if by some miracle I won, Snow would just figure out some other way to end me. I'm going to die. Whether it's in the arena, or soon afterwards by some 'freak accident' or some other scheme he or Peacekeeper Thread manage to think up. But you, you and Peeta, if one of you were to win, then you could _both_ walk away."

I take a step back and let that sink in for a minute. The idea that both of them could walk away, possibly forever. When the idea first began to formulate in my head after the shock of Snow's declaration had worn off, I admit I was afraid. It wasn't fear of the arena or even of my fellow tributes that made me hesitate, but rather fear of the finality of it all. After all, in executing my plan I have to accept, with absolute certainty, that I'm not coming home. At least at my first Hunger Games, despite the odds being entirely against my favor, I was still able to indulge in the possibility of winning. Didn't I promise to do exactly that to Prim and Gale when they each visited me after the Reaping? But this time I won't be allowed even that indulgence. Odds will no longer even be an issue. When I embark onto the train headed for the Capitol, it will be a one-way trip.

Nevertheless, in the time it took me to walk in the freezing cold from my cottage to Haymitch's, I've convinced myself that this was the best course of action for all involved, including myself. I can't live out the rest of my days always looking over my shoulder, waiting for the next time Snow strikes. I can't continue to watch people I love and even people I don't know at all getting struck down all around me as collateral damage in this private war between Snow and me. Prim, Gale, mother, even Peeta and Haymitch, they'll all continue to be at risk as long as I'm breathing.

As I muse over the decision I had made, I see Haymitch lower his eyes. He lets out a sad chuckle.

"You know, it took almost an hour for you to get here. The boy though. Hah. He must have started sprinting over before Snow even finished his sentence."

His eyes raise and his gaze pierces right through me as he mimics Peeta's voice.

"We have to save her Haymitch. You _owe_ me this. Either I'll go in with her and protect her, or I'll volunteer in your stead and go in to protect her. Either way, I'll need you as our mentor to help me ensure she's the one standing in the end."

_Oh Peeta. Of course you'd come running here to protect me wouldn't you_. Against my will my heart starts to feel warm in my chest. Lately, every little thing Peeta does for me has been affecting me far more than it should. If this Quarter Quell hadn't occurred, I could see myself being very much in danger of returning his love with equal force. It's almost for the best that this game will ensure that doesn't happen, since even if I did come to eventually reciprocate Peeta's affections, I still wouldn't be able to bear giving the Capitol more children, my own children, to be more pawns in their games. And let's face it, Peeta is a man meant to have a wife and children of his own. For some reason, as I imagine the faceless woman who will stand next to him and bear his children, the warm place in my chest begins to freeze over and my heart gives an involuntary squeeze. I quickly shake my head of these useless thoughts and look to Haymitch.

"That's the kind of person he is Haymitch. One in a _billion_. The guy who despite knowing I faked the romance to survive the games with him is still putting my life before his without even a second's hesitation."

I pause as my own words hit me. This is the real reason I'm willing to die this time. Sure, even if I won, Snow would continue to hunt me down. But as long as I lived, I could still hold on to a hope that something could happen to change that. But I'm choosing to die instead. Because I know, deep in my heart, and have probably known for some time now, that Peeta is simply the more deserving person. His love for me is and has always been genuine, despite the fact that I'm about as loveable as a porcupine. His willingness to sacrifice himself for me, during and even before the first Hunger Games, makes his greater worth all the more obvious. Since the Reaping and up until now Peeta's thoughts have always been first of me, while mine have always been first of myself. This time, it's going to be different. This time, I'm going to save him. I'm going to save the boy with the bread.

I look to Haymitch, let him see the resolve on my face.

"You know he deserves a chance at a good life far more than me. You know I could live a thousand lifetimes and never be worthy of half the love he gives me so freely. Let me make it up to him this way. He may hate us at first, but you know he'll heal with time. I want to save him Haymitch. I want to protect him. And deep in your heart, you know you want to too."

Haymitch is looking down at his hands wringing together in his lap. All of a sudden he lets out a caustic laugh, which then quickly turns into a moan as his face begins to turn a little green, probably from all the liquor he's been drinking. He slumps a little more into his chair with his face buried in his hands. Finally, he raises his head and meets my eyes again. For the first time, I see it, the pain reflected in them. He really does care, our mentor, in his own churlish way. I almost feel bad using his pain to assure his alliance, but with his and Peeta's lives on the line, I allow myself this cruelty. I make sure to make my voice as entreating as possible for someone like me.

"Will you help me, Haymitch?"

Haymitch sits unmoving for what seems like hours but couldn't have been more than a minute. Then suddenly, as if a puppet lifted with strings, he springs up, slams back the last of his white liquor before throwing the bottle over his shoulder, and then marches straight at me. He stops an arms-length away from me, places both hands on my shoulders, and looks down into my face with an almost pained expression on his own. We stare at each other for a breath, and then he squeezes my shoulders and lets his face slide into his usual, surly expression.

"Well then sweetheart, we're gonna have to start training your ass real hard if you plan on protecting Lover Boy from the other victor tributes. These aren't little kids you're dealing with anymore. Each has won a Hunger Games, leaving twenty-three young corpses behind. You really think you can handle it?"

I look back at him with the same arrogance that irritated him to no end on our first train ride over to the Capitol nearly a year ago and reply, "I can take anything you can dish out old man."

And just like that, the real games begin.


End file.
